


Confess your Sins, Child.

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: 'chaste' marriage, Broken Oaths, Confession, F/M, Sex, Sexual Frustration, Sinning and loving the heck out of it, Smut, married Sebastian Vael/Hawke, sex in the confessional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Vael and Hawke have entered a chaste marriage in the eyes of the Maker...but a woman can take so much of this torture, sleeping next to husband she is crazy about and cannot touch. Little does she know, she's not the only one wavering...and a mishap in the Chantry will show her that indeed, princes are not made for chastity.<br/>Shameless smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confess your Sins, Child.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MostHopelessofRomantics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostHopelessofRomantics/gifts).



Hawke sighed, watching the crowd slowly thin after morning vespers had ended. She rubbed her forehead, then pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stem off a headache that was already forming.

A devout Andrastian, she had always found solace in the Chantry, in the words of the Chant. She was a believer, a firm believer, and had already devoted herself to a life according to the teaching of Andraste. But lately, she could find no comfort here, no succour.

She sighed again, her thoughts sliding to the man pray in regards to whom she had come here to play today: her husband, Sebastian Vael, rightful heir to the throne of Starkhaven. Sebastian, who was for all intents and purposes still a brother of the faith, although he had taken the decision to return to Starkhaven as soon as he could marshal enough support to take back his family’s seat. Sebastian, with his cornflower eyes, his regal posture, his soft, cultured voice, the same man that she thought the Maker had put in her path to reward her for turning away from a life of sin to serve Him.

Her husband. Her husband in a chaste marriage, a marriage in the service of the Maker.

She groaned, gaining a surprised look from one of the Sisters going by. A little seed of resentment sprouted in her heart, filling her with bitterness at the jealousy-filled, envious looks most of the youngest sisters usually gave her.

 _Why the Void not?_ she thought _. I landed the perfect man. I have the perfect marriage. My life is a dream come true for every single one of these sisters._

Only that it wasn’t. She gazed up to the huge statue of Andraste, her eyes almost brimming with a swirl of mixed emotions: frustration, love, longing, self-resentment.

 _You’re a woman too_ , she addressed the huge statue in her head. _You can understand me, don’t you?_

For nearly four months now, she had been sleeping in the same bed with her handsome, breathtaking husband- and he hadn’t touched her, not once. Just chaste kisses, and sometimes a warm embrace before bed. She had awoken drenched with her desire for him more times that she could remember, her body instinctively responding to the virile male body next to her, to the scent and feel of the flesh of the man she loved, his morning erection pressing against her backside.

Oh, Sebastian would be appalled to know the kind of lustful, wicked thoughts going through her mind. She had been no shrinking violet before turning to the Chantry, she had been just as wild as he had in her youth, living a life of debauchery and depravity; she’d done everything, and everyone. But it had been her own decision to leave that life behind and the Maker seemed to have sent Sebastian in her life not to reward her, as she had initially thought, but to test her.

With a small blush painting her cheeks, she looked towards the confessional, waiting for one of the Sisters to step in. She had come here today, secretly, to confess her sin, hoping that talking about her lustful fantasies would help her find the strength to resist the demands of her flesh, to be the woman Sebastian thought he had married, the devout, innocent Hawke he thought he shared his bed with. She’d snuck out of bed this morning, taking a minute to admire – and ogle- the man sleeping next to her, his face relaxed in slumber, his hair mused and curling along his nape, one hand draped around his naked, toned stomach. She’d had to actually clench her fists not to attack him on the spot, wetness flooding between her legs, imaging herself straddling those strong thighs that she could see outlined under the sheet, and riding him like a damned stallion.

She sighed again, then fanned her face. She hadn’t told him  she was planning to take confession as he’d slowly opened those breath-taking cornflower eyes of his and gave her a lazy, mouth-watering smile. She’d told him she’d come and observe the morning vespers and then head to the Keep to see if Aveline had any quests. Not that he would ask to know what she had confessed if he knew...but she was ashamed of being so weak.

So when she turned her head to see what was taking the Sisters so long, and she caught sight of him talking to one of them near the door, she didn’t even think about coming clean. She looked around her in sudden panic, everything inside her screaming for her to flee, hide, do something so that he wouldn’t see her so frazzled with stress and anxiety. Her eyes fell on the confessional, and before she had time to process her decision, she shot up and ran to the small cubicle, slipping inside to hide.

It was after she closed the door behind her that she realised...she was on the confessioner’s side.

And then the door on the other side opened, someone stepped in and Sebastian’s’ deep burr sounded, speaking  softly in the dim, secluded cubicle.

“In the name of the Maker and Andraste, his beloved bride,” he murmured, “I have come before you today with a penitent heart and regret in my soul. Forgive me, Maker, for I have sinned.”

A small war went on inside Hawke at hearing those words: one side demanded that she step forward and declare herself, admitting to the man beside her, separated from her with nothing more than a heavy brocade curtain that she wasn’t a Sister, that she was his very own wife. The other side, overwhelmed by curiosity, demanded she stay and learn what Sebastian wanted to confess.

 _No, no_ , the first voice insisted. _That is a sin. You cannot come between the Maker and a man’s confession- it is a sacred ritual, and you’ll burn in the darkest, deepest pit of the Void for it._

 _Yeah, right_ , the other voice scoffed. _Let’s see you explain to Sebastian why you’re here. You know he’s going to demand to know what it was that you had to confess that made you hide in here so you wouldn’t face him, don’t you?_

And that decided it for her.

She quickly pulled a handkerchief form inside the simple dress she’d worn this day, and held it close to her lips, muffling her voice. “Speak, child,” she replied. “The Maker understands.”

A heavy sigh sounded from the other side.

“I have failed, Maker. As a husband, a man of faith, as a brother in your service.”

A little jolt of surprise went through Hawke, and then she started getting worried. What did he mean? Maker, if he had cheated on her in any way, after the frustrated nights she’d spent by his side, she’d slice his balls off with a rusty knife.

“How have you failed, my child?” she struggled to keep her voice calm, to not show her anxiety show.

“I...I have...Maker’s breath,” he took a deep breath. “I have promised my wife a chaste marriage,” he said. “And I...I am failing.”

“How so?”

“I have vivid, libidinous...dreams of her. I imagine doing things to her...Maker, deliver me from this temptation.”

Hawke shot a shocked look to the curtain then gulped down in relief. So it wasn’t just her that was struggling. Maker, what a relief!

And then she got a little mad at both him and herself. Surely, there was no reason for them both to suffer like this, was there? They had promised a chaste marriage in the eyes of the Maker, but that didn’t mean there had to be no sex between them. Only that sex was supposed to be a sacred act between two people that loved each other, and with the purpose of procreation in mind. It was them that had agreed that since there could be no children yet with the political situation in Kirkwall like it was, they would wait. But they didn’t need to act like brother and sister; surely the Maker didn’t want that. After all, he had taken a bride himself.

“Child...”  she started, “there is no sin in intimacy between a wedded couple. The Maker understands.”

Heavy silence reigned form the other side for a few minutes, making Hawke wonder if Sebastian had somehow realised here was an imposter on the other side. But then his voice echoed, soft as sin, in that delicious accented Starkhaven burr of his, the rrrs rolling and his voice slightly hoarse.

“Ye don’t understand,” the words  tumbled from his mouth, his speech reverting to his native Starkhaven. “I don’t just crave...intimacy.” He paused for a minute, clearly searching for the words to express himself. “I had been a wild child before coming to the Chantry,” he said, his voice dropping even further. “If there was an act that was perverted and...and kinky...I did it. I was a whoremonger, ploughing my way through...Maker. I want to do all those things to her. “ A little mirthless chuckle escaped him. “The flesh, it seems, has a memory that can battle the strongest faith.”

Hawke’s breath started coming in small, excited puffs, and she had to struggle to keep her response even, and her voice from faltering. “How sinful are those acts? Maybe, if your wife agrees...”

“Nay,” Sebastian interrupted, his speech forceful. “She’s devoted to the idea of a chaste marriage. If I dared proposing...she’d be disgusted.”

“Disgusted? Surely, your wife loves you, child,” Hawke countered, her voice going soft. “There is no shame in a wife carrying out her wifely duties with her husband’s comfort in mind. It is a godly virtue in a woman.”

A bang sounded form the other side, jolting Hawke, who realised that in his frustration, Sebastian had slammed his fist on the confessional’s wall. “Nay, nay,” he muttered, clearly flustered. “I dare not. How do you tell your wife that...” he drew a deep, shuddering breath, then moaned quietly in the darkness of the small cubicle, making Hawke’s blood run as hot as lava in her veins. “How do you tell her that ye want to...take her like a beast, bent double over a table? How do you ask her to let ye do...unnatural things to her? That every time she bends over all I can think of is...” his breath was panting now, and another moan escaped him. “Oh, Maker, give me strength.”

She bit her lip, trying desperately to keep the moan building in her throat back. Her hand slipped under the hem of her dress, into her drenched smallclothes then through her wet and glistening folds. Just imagining what Sebastian had just said, herself bent over a table while her husband took her from behind, and Maker forgive her,  even took her up her ass, was enough to make her forget that she was in the Chantry, in the confessional, in the presence of the Maker and Andraste. All that remained were the demands of her flesh, which, as Sebastian had just commented, had a memory all of its own. She remembered the pain and pleasure and amazing, wicked freedom of losing all restraint now, of giving herself to every kind of perversion. A thick cock sliding up her ass. Her on her knees, sucking a man off, swallowing down his seed. Sleeping with two, three men at the same time. Being tied down, at the mercy of a hot, virile man, allowing him every freedom with her body.

She had to bite the little handkerchief between her lips, as she thrummed her own nub, her fingers sliding through her wetness faster and faster.

And damn him, Sebastian was talking again, his cultured, velvety soft voice coming with urgent speed, his syllables almost chopped.

“I imagine tying her up, and feasting upon her, not leaving a single inch of her flesh that I have not savoured.” He moaned again, low in his throat, making Hawke’s body jerk with a small orgasm, that only heralded a big one that was swiftly building, gathering momentum like a huge wave set to crash over her and drown her. “I want to force her to her knees and make her take me in her mouth; I want to flood her mouth with my seed. I want to leave no hole on her body I haven’t filled. Bind her. Beat her. Share her. Maker, Maker, Maker! She’ll hate  me if she learns of all the things I want to do to her!”

The genuine distress, the anguish in his voice, made the lust inside her abate a little. Love and compassion flooded her soul, her heart. “She will not,” she softly said, forgetting to cover her mouth with the handkerchief.

“She will,” the man behind the curtain nearly sobbed. “She will be disgusted. She married a chaste man of the faith and...Andraste, help me! Maker, lift this weight off my soul!”

“Sebastian...” she murmured, touching the curtain the same way she wanted to touch the man behind her. “She will not hate you. She has been dreaming of the same things, Sebastian. Her husband, her lord. Her man. Taking her like a wild storm. She will not hate you, my prince. She will be delighted.”

The curtain pulled abruptly to the side, and Sebastian’s shocked eyes met hers.

“Hawke?”

She panted under his angry, indignant gaze, realising what kind of image she presented, her skirt bunched around her hips, her hand glistening with her juices, her eyes wild and dilated and her lip bitten almost through.

Sebastian slowly looked her up and down, his brow creasing. Then, his shock wearing off, he eyes hooded, his eyelids dropping into a look that was all pure, unadulterated male possession, smoky hot, almost predatory.

“Hawke,” he said again, but this time his voice dropping into a low, sexy murmur, “you have been very bad, sweetling.”

She lifted her hand to her mouth, moaning as she licked her finger, her eyes falling shut. “I  know,” she said. “What is my penance going to be?” The man besides her groaned,  his heated cerulean gaze following the little pink tip of her tongue as she cleaned her own fluids off her fingers.

“Come here,” he rasped, his voice hoarser than he’d ever heard it. “On your knees. Seek atonement.”

She complied, her knees going weak at the sight of this dominant, wicked male predator that had suddenly replaced her devout shy husband, her heart tattooing against her ribcage with excitement.

Sebastian smiled a wicked, devious smile as she settled on her knees before him then widened his stance, allowing her to settle between his spread thighs, and released the ties of his tight leather britches, where an impressive bulge was already  tenting the front. She licked her lips, a small gasp of surprise escaping her at the sheer size and virility of the cock that sprang up from a nest of auburn curls.

“I can see...my punishment is going to be... _big_ ,” she drawled, her eyes going soft, her breath panting with lust. “Maker, Sebastian, where have you been hiding this? _Why_ have you been hiding this?”

A small chuckle escaped Sebastian, even as his hand circled his own length, pumping languidly up and down. “We’ll talk about the hows and whys later,” he sighed, his nostrils flaring at the way she gazed at his cock, enthralled, like a small bird frozen stiff in front of a rearing snake. “Now, sweetling,” he drawled, his Starkhaven burr even more pronounced, “good girls swallow, you know that, right?”

She nodded emphatically, a wicked, sultry smile spreading on her face. “I love you, you know,” she whispered, just before bending forward and wrapping her lips around the bulging, purplish head of his cock, moaning at the musky, virile taste, at the velvety softness of the taught skin covering his steely hardness.

Sebastian fisted one hand in her hair, guiding her head to take him even further, tilted his head back and closed his eyes, bringing his other hand to his mouth to bite down on his knuckles in order to stifle his moans.

She focused on him, on his pleasure alone, dredging up experience of past years, of a life she had left behind, to make sure that her man would never forget this, their first sexual act together. The human body really did have a remarkable memory of its own, indeed, the flesh never forgetting how to receive or give pleasure; and Hawke had been good at this back in the days of her wild youth, before she’d grown weary of living a life of debauchery. Her hands now remembered on their own the right way to fondle and caress, the perfect amount of pressure to apply, when to alternate soft, teasing caresses with bold, brazen ones. She fell back into an easy, practised way of breathing through her nose, timing her inhale and exhale perfectly with his upwards thrusts into her throat; even her gag reflex stop bothering her after the few first thrusts. She remembered what it felt like to have all this male power at her mercy, the ultimate expression of a man’s potency in her mouth. So hard, so strong, but so incredibly delicate at the same time.

She moaned softly around his length, enjoying his taste, his scent, the way his whole body had tensed, the way his cock twitched in her hands, the beads of sweat pearling on Sebastian’s forehead, or gliding down the side of his throat. Her heartbeat was pulsing between her legs at the sight of him, totally surrendered, his hand shaking as it fisted her hair. He looked sexy as sin, totally debauched by pleasure, trembling like a big stallion that had been ridden hard and put away wet.

His hand tightened on her hair and he pulled her back, panting harshly, his every breath audible in the confined space. “Not this way,” he whispered, his eyes dilated to nearly all black. “Not the first time,” he murmured, and then pulled her astride his thighs, desperately pushing and bunching the fabric of her dress until it pooled around her waist. “Inside ye,” he mumbled, frantically pulling her smallclothes to the side, and hissing when he discovered how hot and wet for him she was. “I want to be inside ye, love.”

“Yes,” she agreed, the muscles of her legs turning to overcooked noodles at the urgency with which he positioned her, at the anticipation of that perfect moment when she’d finally be joined to him. “Oh, Sebastian, yes!”

A kiss; he stopped all movement for a deep, reverent kiss, his lips caressing hers tenderly before his tongue slipped into her mouth and they both deepened it instinctively, breathing the air in each other’s lungs, tongues and teeth battling. “I love ye,” he mumbled through it, just before he slipped inside her, with a forceful upward thrust that almost made her scream; his kiss swallowed her sounds of both distress and pleasure.

He gave her a few moments to adjust, touching his forehead to hers, as her female sheath pulsed around the hard, rigid length that had separated tissues in a passage that had gone unused for much too long. She wiggled, trying to ease the desperate tightness of her channel; Maker, he was so big, so incredibly hard. She could feel him at the entrance of her womb, not an inch of her core left that wasn’t bursting full with him.

“Dear Maker,” she choked. “Husband. Sebastian. So big. So good. Oh, stop, no, don’t move, not yet.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows furled with concern. “Am I hurting you?”

“Yes,” she moaned again, then lifted a little on her own, before taking him back in again. “It hurts so _good_.” She then opened her eyes to smile into his worried gaze, and kiss the tip of his nose. “Let me,” she crooned. “Let me set the pace; it feels like you’re splitting me in two.”

His mouth trailed down her throat, one hand coming up to cup her breast over her dress. “Imagine how it’ll feel when I fuck ye up the ass.”

And with that wetness flooded Hawke, making her flesh plaint again, making the desperate tightness ease. She moaned as low as she could as not to be overheard, then lifted and lowered her hips a few times to show him that he could move more easily now. He grinned wolfishly, then his hands tightened on her hips and he took over, moving her bodily over his upwards thrusting cock, raising her and then slamming her down just as his hips snapped upwards to bury his length in her syrupy depths.

She nearly bit through her lip, pleasure building once again, knowing that when it came she’d scream, she’d be unable to resist.

“Someone will hear us,” she panted in his ear as a particularly strong thrust ploughed inside her, making the first tingles spread in warm concentric circles from  her core to the rest of her body. “Sebastian! I won’t be able to...”

Another wicked grin curled his chiselled, kiss-swollen mouth, making his crystalline blue eyes light up with mischievousness. He completely withdrew, stifling her protests with a devouring kiss, before effortlessly spinning her around so that she was now with her back against this chest. He was back inside her in a flash, his large hand coming up to cover her mouth and completely muffle any sounds she was making. His other hand trailed down, finding her little nub amid her drenched folds and ruthlessly stroking it, in time with his furious thrusts inside her.

Hawke moaned into his palm, leaned her head back against his shoulder and gave in, totally surrendering to the onslaught of pure bliss of his touch, his strong body surrounding her, invading her, conquering everything that she was. There had never been another woman that had so readily and joyfully surrendered like she had, with such overwhelming certainly that this was where she belonged, this was where she’d been born to be: filled by him, taken by him, totally his.

His panting mouth was by her ear, and she could hear every small drop and pitch of his breath, every little choked moan. Every dirty, erotic word he whispered in his silky, accented voice.

“You are so beautiful, sweetling,” he was crooning to her with every thrust. “So tight. So wet for me. Ye have wanted this, me inside you,” he accentuated his words with another forceful  thrust, “for so long, and never said a word, didnae ye?”

She could only nod, her mouth completely covered by his hand, her whole body trembling, caught on the brink of completion.

“And ye let me believe you were this chaste, innocent little flower,” Sebastian’s voice dropped even lower, “while all this time ye’ve longed for my cock.”

She nodded again, then arched as he pinched her nub slightly between his fingers.

“Bad, _bad_ little Hawke,” he chided her, licking around the rim of her ear. “You need to be punished.”

She nodded her agreement emphatically, then raised pleading, lust-fogged eyes to his face, her whole body arching, begging him  wordlessly.

“Oh, I shall punish ye, my Hawke,” he promised her darkly. “But first, come for me, love. Give me your pleasure.”

She immediately obeyed, her whole body bowing, a scream muffled by his palm. Her sheath tightened unbearably around him, fluttering as if it was trying to draw him deeper, milking his own orgasm out of him. They shuddered together, flying into the sun on a wave of incredible, mind-stopping pleasure; every little pulse of his seed shooting inside her made her body bow and arch, her sheath tighten even more in wave after wave of destructive pleasure. And every orgasmic shudder of hers brought on another desperate spurt from him, until he had coated every inch of her in his thick cream, until there was nothing else to give her.

Time stopped for both of them for those few moment of shuddering, agonising pleasure; then one by one, their senses returned; sound first, then scent, then vision. Sebastian slumped against the wall of the confessional, making the wood of the small cubicle groan and creak, then cast a slightly amused and mortified look at the image they presented. Slowly, he lowered his hand from Hawke’s mouth, then leaned in to kiss her; she seemed shell-shocked, as if the amount of pleasure she had received had been more than she’d both expected and could handle.

“Run along home, little Hawke,” Sebastian felt the first stirring of renewed desire. “Run home and wait for me there. We are far from done.”

She gave him an adorably confused look, then looked around her, blushing furiously. “Oh, Maker,” she groaned as if she just now only realised where they were and what they had done. She started righting her clothes, her fingers shaky, and made a move to wipe the moisture from between her legs with her handkerchief.

“No,” Sebastian stopped her, grasping to her arm. “Don’t.”

She raised confused eyes to his face and gasped at the dominant, predatory look of possession as he inspected her reddened folds, slick with their combined fluids. “Go home. Do not clean yourself. Don’t even lose a drop of my seed on the way. I plan to clean you myself.”

She blushed some more, before a sultry light lit up in her eyes, along with amazing, heart-warming happiness. If there had been a single moment where – after the glow and pleasure had stopped fogging her mind- she had doubted her relationship with Sebastian, wondering if he’d be disgusted with her, if he’d love her less now that he’d seen how lustful, how wild she really was, it was dispelled at that moment. If there’d been any single ounce of worry and self-blame, his words had just alleviated it.

They were two of a kind, she and her prince, two sensual, kinky individuals, that had attempted to suppress their lustful nature- and failed miserably. But since they had failed together, it didn’t matter. It would all be alright.

She smiled warmly, then nodded and licked her lips.

“Aye, my Lord and husband,” she agreed. “I will.”

“Good girl,” he crooned, smiling warmly, then pulled her close for a kiss- hot, possessive, one of those kisses that could make a woman’s mind turn to mush. “Go. Take care you’re not seen.”

She smiled, then stood on wobbly legs, squeezing her thighs together. She moved awkwardly, trying valiantly to obey his order, blushing all the while.

As the door closed behind her, Sebastian leaned back in his seat, a huge smile on his face. He wasalready plotting on what he'd do to her next, in the comfort of their home. He sighed,  but it was a happy contented sigh, a sigh of relief.

They would not have a chaste marriage after all, it seemed, and he raised his eyes upwards, asking the Maker’s forgiveness. But princes were not made for celibacy, and apparently, neither were champions.

He smiled wolfishly; not a chaste marriage, then. But, by the Maker, a happy one.

* * *

“Isn’t that the Champion, Prince Vael’s bride?”

“Yes,” the young Sister turned to her friend. “Yes, she is.”

“She seems to be in an awful hurry today.”

The second Sister looked at Hawke, tilting her head at the side. “She seems to be walking a little...gingerly.”

Just then, Sebastian walked past them, straightening his tunic, shooting them a small friendly smile. His eyes fell on Hawke as she made her way across the square, and his eyes hooded in a male look of want and lust. Composing himself with some effort as he realised the young sisters were avidly watching him, he cleared his throat, then shot them a greeting and also rushed out of the Chantry square, on the wake of his retreating wife.

“Is that a...”

“...a hickey. Yes.”

Both the sister’s eyes again focused on Hawke, now turning a corner, shooting a coy little look at her husband behind her shoulder.

“Lucky bitch.”

The other Sister just nodded.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For my friend and dear reader, Most HopelessofRomantics.   
> A second chapter is in the works.  
> Leave a comment, comments are love!


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